Through Fire and Flame
by IfOnlyItWereReal
Summary: Set in the Inkworld at the beginning of Inkspell, with Farid, Meggie, Dustfinger, Adderhead, Barn Owl, Roxane, and a gazillion others. A little Meggie/Farid BOO! and a little Dustfinger/Roxane YAY! . PLEASE R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and settings recognizable from Inkheart, Inkspell, and/or Inkdeath belong totally and completely to the absolutely genius Cornelia Funke. I only own the plot/ the events that I make up. **

**NOTE: This story is meant to be set at the beginning of Inkspell, when Meggie, Dustfinger, and Farid have entered the Inkworld. **

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Book 1, Chapter 1

EMBER

The torches whirled, a flaming Ferris wheel in the sky, before tumbling back to earth, where they landed in dark hands that acted as if it were second nature to snatch burning objects from the sky with ease and grace. An admiring gasp sounded near the edge of the clearing in which the young fire-eater stood. Farid turned, and flashed a smile toward Meggie through the flames now pinwheeling around his head and chest, eyes gleaming in the firelight. He let the torches drop onto the ground, crouching over them, whispering, coaxing, pleading, until at last they blossomed into the shape of roses, lilies, tulips,, flowers of every imaginable kind. He plucked up a rose and presented it to Meggie.

"Farid," she whispered. "It's beautiful."

"Be careful," he warned with a faint smile playing around his lips, still holding the rose. "It bites."

"I will," she promised, also smiling faintly, as she stepped in to kiss him gently.

Fire required the utmost concentration to control, and the girl Farid believed himself to be in love with kissing him with so much love was considered one of the best moments of his life, let alone a mere distraction. As his emotions raged, so did his control and concentration, until at last the young lovers were trapped in a blazing ring of fire, crackling and hissing greedily. When they broke apart seconds later, the harsh smoke filled their lungs and stung their eyes.

"Farid," she gasped, and her trembling voice brought him to her senses. He shouted at the fire to calm itself, so that he could tame it and make it docile once more, but he could not. The flames that had blossomed moments before now rose up against their former nurturer, snarling like an angry beast that has been let put of a cage in which it has been kept too long. Perhaps if Dustfinger had been there, he could have soothed the fiery inferno, and it would have obeyed his every command like a well-trained dog, but this was only Farid, and never did he even have the potential to work with fire with the mastery of the great Dustfinger.

"Meggie, come on!" Farid shouted desperately as he ran toward the end of the clearing, but the fire knew it had them, and inched closer, ever closer, crackling evilly. They scrambled toward the end of the clearing, where the flames were just reaching their fingers toward the last trees, their last hopes of escape. Farid clambered up with ease- he had certainly had enough practice in his time as a thief, and Meggie followed, though slow and unsteady.

When the flames finally started licking around the trunk of the tree, they didn't even notice. Farid was a few branches above Meggie when the tree's base disintegrated into ashes, and the tree swayed, trembled, and fell to earth with a whoosh and a thud. Their screams echoed through the night air, which so few minutes ago had been tranquil and still. Farid leaped from the branch, pushing off with his feet and landing just outside the circle of fire that now leaped high into the night, wispy pillars of smoke wafting lazily up into the clouds. He ran, ran for his life, with bare feet pounding the cool earth, not knowing, not thinking, not caring, just running to live, running with the most basic instinct of humanity- survival.

When he at last stopped, gasping for breath, a knife seemingly stabbing his side with every breath he managed to take in, he finally took stock of his surroundings, regained a spark of some emotion other than fear or panic.

"Meggie," he sobbed, sinking to the ground and punishing it with his fist as if it were its fault that he had made it, that Meggie had not, howling ferally at the unfairness of the world like a man who has just lost everything he holds dear. His tears soaked the earth and his sobs slowly faded away before his now-limp form slumped slowly toward the ground, unconscious in a blissful, numb sleep.

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**A/N**

**So did you like it? If you did, please, please, PLEASE review and look out for more chapters to come…. I have the whole plot planned out, but my stories go places that surprise even me, so who knows if this one will follow the plan? I am not totally satisfied with the writing in this chapter, so it will probably be revised in the not-so-distant future. And sorry for any OOC this may have. Oh, and this is definitely not a Farid/Meggie story, despite the impressions the first chapter might give… Soon they both will be… but can't give anything awat now can I? I actually like Roxane/Dustfinger best, but that I am saving for later ********. Again, if you like please review, but if you don't like it, please no hate stuff. If you hated the story, then don't bother reading it, honestly. Thanks!**


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and settings recognizable from Inkheart, Inkspell, and/or Inkdeath belong totally and completely to the absolutely genius Cornelia Funke. I only own the plot/ the events that I make up. **

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Book 1 Chapter 2

EQUILIBRIST

Farid

When Farid awoke from nightmarish dreams of Meggie's fair hair vanishing into a forest of autumnal leaves the vivid colors of fire, he lay for a moment on his side. His mind was blank, unthinking. He had no idea who he was, what had happened, anything at all.

_Concentrate. Logic. _He told himself forcefully. Okay, first step: … he had absolutely no idea. He couldn't think, and if he couldn't think then he certainly couldn't act. He looked down at his hands, seeing the rose, now just flickering embers. _The rose._ It all came rushing back now, like huge waves pulling him under the surface swiftly and completely. Meggie's lips gentle on his, her scream as the tree fell, the flames licking playfully around his ankles like a cat playing with a mouse, the run through the night with thorny branches and vines tripping him, holding him back, pulling him down, while half-imagined ghosts lurked and whispered among the trees. How could he not have known? How in the world could he not have remembered this?

He was walking a thin line between numbness and pain, between sanity and insanity, a tightrope walker, sky-dancer, an equilibrist poised in midair. Only, his next step might not be so graceful.

What in this world did he have left? He could wander among the seemingly never-ending shadowy trails of the Wayless Wood. He could return to the strolling players. He could… he could go to Dustfinger's cottage. It was so simple, how could he not have thought of it before?

He was near enough to see a charcoal-burner's solitary cottage off in the distance- he was near civilization again. He set off once again, weary feet dragging, but eyes fresh with hope.

Around a week later

Farid had been on the move for days and nights now- he didn't know the numbers, dates, times- they were meaningless when your life was one long journey from place to place, shelter to shelter. At last he saw a farm- a bakehouse with smoke curling from the chimney, a small house, a barn, and a stable, all gathered around a sturdily-fenced yard where a well stood and a few chickens pecked at bugs in the dust. He stopped at the edge of the forest, the domestic scene resting cozily before him. The garden around the back of the house wasn't visible from this angle. He had never had a home- his life was much too nomadic for that. People like Dustfinger and Meggie-oh, the name shot a pang through his heart to even think- were his home. Without them, he was lost.

And now he was home again. He stepped forward, out of the shade of the stand of trees.

Meggie

I awoke in a small, dark space, remembering everything that had happened. I choked out a sob, and within a few seconds a cool hand was laid upon my forehead.

"Hush, child." I didn't recognize the rasping voice, but as of right now it didn't matter. There was only one voice that would have mattered: Farid's, and I knew that it wasn't his.

I open my eyes, and it takes them a while to adjust to the dark, but when they do I see a small figure hunched busily over what looks like a small pile of leaves in the corner.

"Who are you?" I croak, my voice hoarse from all the smoke that had filled my lungs, burning them and almost suffocating me.

"You know me. Or at least you've heard of me. Nettle."

"The healer? Moss-woman?" I choke out, my throat aching with every word.

"Of course, what other Nettle is there? Here, drink this."

I accept the rough wooden bowl as its handed to me. I take a cautious sip, and a bitter, but not unpleasant, taste fills my mouth. It soothes the pain in my throat and makes me want to drop my head down onto the thin pillow again, though I know I've probably slept for hours upon end. But first, tehre's something I need to know.

"Is there a boy? Farid?" Even with an aching, drowsy voice, my tongue lets his name go like a caress, a sweet melting on my tongue.

She's silent. Then her voice comes again: "No."

_Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God._ I try to push myself up from the low bed, not knowing what I intend to do- perhaps go stumbling through the woods like some insane psychopath, calling out his name. My arms are weak, as is every part of me, aching and sore and helpless, crying out with pain for rest. I nearly collapse, but the strong gnarled hands lead me to the bed, where my head drops onto the pillow and I am instantly asleep.

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**AN:**

**Were you surprised? Sorry if this confused everyone who though Meggie was dead, but remember the last we hear of her is how she screams when the tree is falling. More about how she escaped in chapters to come. When I said Farid was sobbing because he had made it and Meggie had not in the last chapter, I meant for it to be what Farid was thinking, not a fact. Besides, saying "because Farid though Meggie had not made it" would have been waaaayyyy too much of a giveaway. And less dramatic********. Also sorry to those who wanted to kill Meggie off, but she and her voice have a part to play in this story. By the way, Meggie has slept through about 5 days, but her body is in shock from the fire and whatever injuries she may have suffered… again, watch for new chapters! Ah, my poor characters… both suffering emotionally and Meggie physically, both thinking the other is dead. Please read and review, I'd be happy to take any suggestions or comments. Sorry if I don't respond, 'cause I'm going to be really busy- new school, cross country, piano, and a ton of other stuff-ugh.**


	3. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and settings recognizable from Inkheart/Inkspell/Inkdeath belong absolutely and completely to the genius Cornelia Funke. I only own the plot/the events that I make up.**

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Book 1, Chapter 3:

Dustfinger

Sometimes words just weren't enough, no matter how many you used, no matter how well they flowed and sounded and tasted as they curled off the tip off your tongue. Words- those fickle things, empty promises never fulfilled, magical things and places just out of your reach, taunting you. This world- it was something else, impossible to encase in the small scope of language. There were always some things that had to be felt and seen rather than heard and described. Like love. Like home.

Dustfinger paced slowly around the small yard. He shivered, rubbing his palms together, and suddenly a small, bright flame danced up out of nowhere. Absentmindedly watching his boots collecting morning dewdrops on the tops like tears, he thought. Tears, how many he had shed, longing to be here, to be home, with Roxane, and now he was restless. After the tears had stopped flowing in that other world, the well of despair run dry, he had begun to love Farid like a son, and now his life wasn't complete without him. But he was still in that other world, and there was no hope.

Yes, he loved Roxane, more than his own life, more than anything, but once you learn to love someone, anyone, in any way, you can't dismiss that love for another older, deeper, passionate love. You just can't- love engraves its mark onto your heart forever, and no matter whether it was love for a child, a lover, a friend, you couldn't erase it no matter how you tried- which was what Dustfinger was trying to accept and understand now.

In an effort to stop thinking about his adopted son, he called up memories of Roxane- her graceful dance, her colorful skirt swaying and flittering in the great majestic halls in which she had danced, her voice so beautiful that it brought tears to his eyes whenever she even sang a simple lullaby, and her face almost equal in its beauty. Best of all, the memory of when he had returned, when he had seen her again, when he had been forgiven. At first, Roxane had seems wary, suspicious even, but that lasted no longer than a few days. Still, he hadn't expected this forgiveness to come so easily, for all her love and trust to come up easier than drawing water from a well, but here he was again. He sighed, trying to remember every exact detail of that day…

He held her close, his face buried in the fragrant black hair piled on top of her head, vowing never to let her go again. The shudders of her sobs wracked her slender form, and regret filled his heart and tears his eyes at her pain- it was all because of what he had done. His lips found the spot next to her ear, where they had whispered so many times, so many years ago.

"You know," he murmured, his voice breaking, "I never would have left, not if I had had a choice. _Never._"

Roxanne was silent for a few moments. "That doesn't help," she whispered, her voice tight and barely contained, as if it would break into the wail she was holding in at any moment.

His arms loosened around her, but she only clung all the tighter. He pushed her out to arms length, and their tear-filled gazes held each other, his eyes steady in his purpose but uncertain at their reception.

"Dustfinger." Her voice broke the silence like a whisper of a breeze, a warm flame in a dark night, and he knew he had been forgiven.

He heard Roxane humming to herself as she stepped across the kitchen floor to wake Jehan from his cot. Then, he saw a figure step out from the stand of trees by the path leading up to the barn. He could only make out a silhouette- the sun was just rising, and the early-morning light was outlining the figure, blocking light from access to his features.

Farid

I stepped forward, out of the small stand of trees. I could see Dustfinger in the yard, pacing around slowly, as if pondering something. Then I saw him stop and look toward me. I broke into a jog, my weary body telling me not to, but everything else telling me to go towards a warm bed, and food, and Dustfinger, who had become a strange but welcome mixture of father, brother, and friend.

As I ran towards him, the back of my mind registered a beautiful woman stepping out of the house behind him. Dustfinger didn't turn around- I think he was still trying to make sure it was actually me.

I leaped over the fence, ran to Dustfinger, and stood before him.

"Farid?" his voice revealed no other emotion than shock.

"Yeah?"

"How the hell did you get here?"

Meggie

Again, when I woke, my eyes took a while to adjust and I didn't know where I was. Nettle was bending over what I now knew to be a pile of dried herbs in the corner. Deja vu, anyone?

"Awake yet?" I felt the shape move closer. "Good. Take this." Again, I sipped the bitter liquid from a wooden bowl.

"Nettle, how did you find me?" the question just popped out- I hadn't even realized I'd been thinking it.

"I was gathering marjoram and curdwort, and I saw smoke. I was hurrying away when I heard a scream, actually sounded like two, and came back to see if there was anyone I could help. I found you laying unconscious a few yards away from the fire, the hem of your dress aflame. "

Meggie looked down. Instead of the dress Resa had sewed for her, she was wearing a simple, off-white shift. She tried to swing her legs over the side of the bed and winced. She bent slowly to pull back the sheet and look at them, and gasped quietly. They were bright red and blistered, with a large, deep cut just beginning to heal by her left ankle.

Nettle saw her looking and said curtly, "Yes, you were injured, but not badly. You'll live. I've seen people survive much worse. You have to stay here though- without the poultices, you risk infection."

Meggie nodded slowly. Then, after she had healed, she would go to find Farid. She had thought it over and concluded that if anyone could escape, her fire-eater could.

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**AN: **

**Sorry that was so long-winded in the beginning, but I had to establish how Dusty and Roxane are now, but why Dustfinger still misses Farid. Also, it really was awkward describing Dustfinger's feelings for Farid and vice-versa, 'cause I didn't want them sounding gay. So that made it long-winded too. And the Dusty/Roxane part was just sort of randomly thrown in there, but what kind of story would it be with none of that couple? They're the best! I also know not much happened, sorry bout that, but the plot will be progressing faster soon! Please R&R, and thanks to all the amazing people(with such good taste, too!) that have already reviewed or favorited.**


	4. Chapter 4

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Farid stopped in front of Dustfinger, who was staring at him as if he was a ghost risen from his freshly-dug grave, a beloved ghost, yes, but still- a ghost. He held out his arm and put a hand on Farid's shoulder as if he expected it to pass through.

As Farid stepped toward Dustfinger again, Roxane stepped out of the cottage, humming quietly to herself.

"Dustfinger, who's this?" her voice was wary, and with a good reason to be too- Farid's clothes were torn, his face and feet dirty, an old, almost empty pack slung over his shoulder- not exactly a reassuring appearance

"This… this is Farid. We met while I was gone." He could see she didn't believe him; could see it in every action and every look and every now-troubled feature of her face.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" her voice was low, but dangerously so. They stepped inside, onto the swept floor of the kitchen.

"You- you found another?" Roxane said.

"What? No! We just-" he trailed off, realizing how weak his story sounded. But what could he tell Roxane, if he couldn't tell her the truth? How could he explain a ten-year absence and Farid if she wouldn't believe his so-called stories of other worlds and silver-tongues? How could he explain Farid wasn't his son if even his own heart and soul felt as if he was? What possible tales, what plausible lies could he possibly concoct that she would possibly believe… what explanation could he come up with, when what his adventures had actually been so much more extraordinary than anything he could ever make up? Hell, she would never believe him. No matter what he thought up. He despaired as he thought, and as he thought, Roxane's conviction grew.

She turned on her heel and walked out the other door, toward her herb garden.

Roxane was strong. She had always been brave, kept on going. After Dustfinger gone, the fire, losing Jehan, raising her son on her own. But now- God, was that why he had stayed away? Just so that he could stay with another woman- with another life? He had loved her, and she had loved him, and, oh, she thought it had been real, it had seemed so real. Tears began to seep out of the corners of her eyes, and she angrily dashed them away. Why- why and how in hell had she let herself fall for him again? She had let him into her life, her home, her heart, and look how he repaid it! Bringing his son of another woman with him whom he had loved more than her- that's why he had been gone! God, it all made sense now. No wonder he had stayed away so long- she didn't matter. She didn't matter. Now she wasn't trying to wipe the tears away- down her high cheekbones, her sculpted lips, into the strands of dark hair that had come loose from the bun nestled at the back of her neck. Passion, whether love or hate, often brings out the most beautiful and the most terrible in people. So Roxane, as stood with her slender form bowing under the awful weight of sorrow and pain, yet still somehow retaining a flame of dignity and pride, was both beautiful and terrible.

Dustfinger's voice now came from the shadows, "Rox-"

But she cut him off before he could even finish her name. She whipped around, spitting out the words that had been going through her mind and then some. But the (very eloquent) summary of it would be:

"Get OUT! Goddammit, Dustfinger, GET OUT! "

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**AN:**

**So when I'm talking about Roxane, she lost Jehan Sr.- she said "named Jehan, after his father" in the book. Sorry if that confused anyone- I just couldn't find another way to say it. **

**And ohmigod… I'm sorry… I'm absolutely hating myself right now. This chapter was great to write though- some small consolation, to me at least, for what happened in it. I always love chapters with Roxane in them- no homo, she's just epic to write about, even if she is sobbing over her broken heart in a disgracefully short chapter witha disgracefully long wait.**


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